


Building a Mystery

by Daiako (Achrya)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Amnesia, Angels, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Enslaved Demons, Ghost Hunters, Gods, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magic, On Hiatus, Rituals, Sex Magic, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Noctis thinks his life is over when he runs away from the Caelum coven but then he meets Ignis, a centuries old god who decides to bind himself into Noct's service. And Prompto, a literal angel who has no idea who he is, where he's come from, or where he's going but is sure Noct is the answer. And Gladio, a demon who would rather die than trust a witch but needs Noctis just as much as Noctis needs him.Then his story really starts.AKA, the sexy, dark, horror filled adventures of Noctis and his familiars.





	1. Razor Wire Shrine

**Author's Note:**

> This is what has been dubbed on my tumblr as my Witchy Noctis AU. The first few chapters will bounce around in the timeline, from meeting each of the boys in the past to the case they're actively working on in the 'present', but not necessarily on an 'every other chapter' basis. More as I feel the need to swap or get hit with ideas for their past together, tbh. 
> 
> There's a shit ton of porn in this, shameless shameless porn, but also some heavy themes, violence, blood, gore, and...it gets dark. Sometimes the porn is dark. All these guys have a shit ton of issues and we'll eventually address them all. But also Noctis bangs/gets banged all over the place. ...for the plot. 
> 
> The magic is made up and not meant to reflect any actual religion, faith, or rituals, though it may borrow from a lot of different ones.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He meet Ignis at a local Shrine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You come out at night  
>  That's when the energy comes  
> And the dark side's light  
> And the vampires roam  
> You strut your rasta wear  
> And your suicide poem  
> And a cross from a faith that died  
> Before Jesus came  
> You're building a mystery  
> You live in a church  
> Where you sleep with voodoo dolls  
> And you won't give up the search  
> For the ghosts in the halls  
> You wear sandals in the snow  
> And a smile that won't wash away  
> Can you look out the window  
> Without your shadow getting in the way?  
> You're so beautiful  
> With an edge and charm  
> But so careful  
> When I'm in your arms  
> 'Cause you're working  
> Building a mystery  
> Holding on and holding it in  
> Yeah you're working  
> Building a mystery  
> And choosing so carefully  
> You woke up screaming aloud  
> A prayer from your secret god  
> You feed off our fears  
> And hold back your tears, oh  
> Give us a tantrum  
> And a know it all grin  
> Just when we need one  
> When the evening's thin  
> You're a beautiful  
> A beautiful fucked up man  
> You're setting up your  
> Razor wire shrine_
> 
> Building A Mystery, Sarah McLachlan (Ignis' Theme)

He meet Ignis at a local shrine, less than a week after coming to the city. Back in Insomnia his coven was friendly with most of the local gods and major spirits, offering tribute and sacrifice and getting protection and luck in return. Noctis got it into his head to do the same, figuring he needed all the help he could get considering he had an entire ancient coven trying to...eat him or cut out his heart or whatever they were after. 

He hadn’t exactly stopped to find out exactly what they’re plans were after overhearing that they planned to sacrifice him on his next birthday, and he cared less about the details as he did the whole not dying for the gain of others things. So here he was, in Altissia, trying to make the money he’d escaped with stretch and making nice with whoever would have him while digging himself as deep into the Under Community as he could. 

Altissia was a melting pot of faiths, with the Sisters of Shiva mixing with the Oracle’s Priestesses and Priests of Bahamut, and smaller sets ups like Father Sazh ran over at Our Lady of Brynhilde Mission, and Noctis was willing to drop a prayer, a coin, and food or drink offering behind for all of them if time permitted. 

But he knew it was always the locals you appeased first and most often.

It was a frigid night when he finally got to the shrine, after a train ride to connect to a bus and a what felt like hours of hiking through near knee deep snow. His breath bloomed in front of him, icy petals opening up into a misty cloud, and while his march had him sweating his fingers and toes were chilled. He pulled his scarf tighter around the lower half of his face as he passed under the wooden gate to climb the stone stairs. He felt a prickle over his skin, icy cold and yet burning at the same time, and then...the world changed.

The bare trees around him were dark, the branches weighed down with snow bending closer, reaching for him with skeletal fingers. They closed in, groaning and cracking as they moved, and branches that hadn’t seemed to be so close snagged at his hair and clothes. The shadows lengthened and twisted on the stone before him, became gaping maws with ice slick teeth and tongues, beckoning him closer. The wind howled and, under its angry cry, Noctis heard a voice, masculine, accented, blending with the wind like it was part of it, singing a somber lullaby.

It was a siren’s song, calling to him, begging him to come closer. He knew the moment he took another step forward there was no turning back; he was a fly and that haunting song was the trap, closing tighter and tighter around him.

He didn’t remember reaching the top of the stairs or walking down the path, past stone lanterns long gone dark, their stone cracked and grown over with weeds. The buildings about the grounds were rundown, weathered, and collapsing in on themselves, the grass was so out of control it was strangling the life from everything else, had claimed much of the path and reduced it to pitted, broken rubble.

The song got louder, pounded on his ears and blocked out the rest of the world. The wind blew, raffling his hair, and the lullaby curled around him, caught his wrist and neck in invisible shackles, tethered as a puppet on strings, played with by an uneven hand that lead him to walk jerkily forward. He knew he needed to break away, to save himself because already he felt strange, weaker, his magic dripping out of him from some wound he couldn’t see, but instead he went forward. The snow snapped and crunched over his feet, made him think, absurdly, of the sound dried ritual bones made when cracked open. 

At the end of the path, standing in front of the haiden was a man. Taller than Noctis, dressed in a simple white yukata and darkly colored haori.

His hair was a sandy brown, falling into eyes that glowed with unnatural green fire, long and ruffled by wind that Noctis wasn’t entirely sure was real. One side of his face was heavily scarred, especially around his eye and when he smiled it was with a grimace of pale, scarred, lips. They drew back to show glaringly white fang like teeth and the hand that beckoned Noctis closer, yanked on his strings, was tipped with long ink black claws. Pointed ears, rust colored, peeked out of his hair and long fluffy tails, tipped in white flames, curled around his legs and spilled over the stone at his feet. He was well built and looked strong in one moment but in the next hunched and frail, gaunt. Starved, skin gone sallow and cheeks sunken. 

Yet he was the most beautiful thing Noctis had ever seen and maybe the most terrible as well.

The song was gone, swallowed up by the roar of a storm that hadn’t existed minutes ago, but Noctis came to him anyway, let himself be drawn into warm strong arms. Clawed fingers combed through his hair and poison green eyes stared down at him searchingly. Noctis couldn’t find the air to scream let alone cast, couldn’t grasp his magic.

“Aren’t you a strange little human?” It breathed, hand roaming Noct’s chest and radiating so much heat it was nearly painful. “You feel more like one of my kind than one of yours. It seems almost a shame to eat something so-“

Noctis, dazed and dizzy and so very cold, leaned up and kissed him, cutting off his words.

The man inhaled in shock, sucked the air right out of Noct’s lungs. All he could think to do was further part his lips and offer up more. Was he going crazy? Had everything that had happened in the past few weeks, realizing the coven intended to use him as a sacrifice, that his father knew it, running and running and running and-

The man kissed him back, licked into his mouth and nipped at his bottom lip with sharp teeth, pulled something out if him with each breath, and Noctis forgot everything but him. Hands swept down his back, cupped his ass and draw him even closer, melded their bodies together. Heat and electricity flowed through him, between them and the hands on his ass were moving him, encouraging him to rock against the spirit, ride the thigh that had found a spot between his legs. 

He felt like he was dreaming, thoughts sluggish and body heavy, and even though he knew he needed to fight back, to end this he couldn’t make himself do it. Not when the spirit’s mouth was trailing down his neck, peppering little kisses and sharp bites over his skin. 

He slipped his fingers into the spirit’s hair, twined silken strands around them, and let his eyes slip shut. He didn’t feel like he was in danger, hadn’t felt that tingle of alarm that usually came to life when something was wrong so maybe...maybe this was okay. Maybe it was safe or was really just a dream or-

The spirit’s knee pressed up, ground against his hard cock; Noctis shuddered and moaned throatily. 

“So pretty.” The spirit murmured. “Lovely little witchling. How should I have you?” 

Have him? Sharp teeth bit down over his collar bone, dug in deep and must have broken the skin but there was barely any sting at all. No, there was just heat, bright flaring heat and *need* like he’d never felt before, so heavy that it threatened to crush him under it’s weight. Maybe this spirit was going to eat him, swallow him whole and leave nothing but his empty body behind, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than that. 

There were worst ways to die, weren’t there? 

He was barely aware of his clothes coming off, of being laid down onto the ground, of the spirit parting his legs to settle between them. It should have been cold, there was snow all around them, falling hard, but to him everything was the heat, the fire, radiating from the spirit and a soft whisper of fur as his many tails fell over Noct’s legs and stomach, twisting around them. The spirit’s mouth moved over his bared skin, worshipped every bit as it burned a path down his torso. A rough tongue laved over a nipple before it was pulled into the spirit’s mouth. Noctis arched up with a wet moan as the nub was nibbled and tugged to hardness. The spirit moved to the other side and clawed hands ran down his sides, over his ribs, scrapping and digging in just enough to sting in the sweetest way. 

Noctis pushed his hips up and his cock, achingly hard, rubbed against the spirit’s scalding hot length and “Fuck!” it was- it felt good. The spirit was hard but velvet soft where they slid against each other and Noctis could feel it twitch at the contact. The spirit’s cock was big, thick and long, and slick with fluid that it left trails of against Noct’s erection, belly, and thigh as it slide over his skin. It was with a shaking hand that Noctis’ reached down to touch, to feel the weight and width of it in his hand. Noctis shivered, felt the spirit shudder in turn, then manuvered his hand to wrap around both of them as best he could, keeping their cocks pressed tight as they moved against each other.

His head spun, the wet push and drag overwhelming him. He’d never touched anyone else, never been touched because his coven couldn’t risk him being tainted or his power diminished but he knew, as the spirit kissed him again, that they’d been wrong. 

He didn’t feel diminished, he felt...strong. Stronger than he ever had. His magic, a constant presence in the core of his being, was spreading out everywhere in tingling ripples, had risen up right beneath his skin in little champagne bubbles, was coursing through him and begging to be released and there was so much, so much, he was going to- it was going to

“Let me in, witchling.” The spirit murmured against his mouth, around the lip it had drawn into his mouth. “Let me taste you.” 

Something shifted inside of him, a switch being flicked or a door being opened and suddenly he was leaking magic out again, pressing it against the tongue licking into his mouth, dribbling it out as saliva mixed and needle sharp teeth bite his lip swollen, pouring it out into skin through his fingertips. The spirit purred, chest rumbling, and lapped at his open, gasping mouth hungrily. 

A hand dropped between them, found a place between Noctis’ thighs and then teased between his cheeks. 

His fingers were, somehow, slick when they pressed against Noct’s entrance. He grunted, squirmed against the unfamiliar feeling as the spirit’s rough fingertips circled his hole, pressing lightly. More kisses found his mouth, soft and plying, and with them came more fire. It sank into him, molten and smooth, meshed with the magic simmering under his skin and he was filled with it to the brim. The world shuddered, or maybe it was just him, and he fell apart under it. 

“That’s it. That’s good.” The spirit said, other hand grasping Noct’s thigh to press his leg up and to the side, spreading him open. “Let me have all of you.”  

A slick finger pressed into him, a slow slide as deep into his body as it could get. Noctis cried out, thrashing as the finger began to pump in and out of his tight body, stroking his insides. It was strange, pressure and warmth in there, but a tight tingling was building low in his gut and every push and pull fed it. 

When a second finger stretched him further Noctis found himself bucking his hips to press down onto them. The spirit’s laugh was touched with a growl, low and feral, and the hand holding his leg open clenched hard enough for claws to dig into sensitive flesh. Noct’s toes curled and his cock, already so hard it hurt, jumped. He pushed against the spirit’s hand again, whimpered as the fingers stroked over something that made his stomach clench painful and stars burst over the back of his eyelids. 

That. He needed, wanted, that! But more, harder, deeper, needed it so much it made it hard to breathe. 

He knew, distantly, that everything was happening too fast, that it was all too strange, that he’d opened up something inside of himself and was letting something in that he shouldn’t but he couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.

He was sure he would die, that this fire and light swirling around inside of him would consume him, if he stopped. Better to let this spirit devour him, like this. 

“Please!” He keened, back arching. “Please please. Inside me, put it-nghh!” 

He lost his words when the spirit stroked over his prostate again, everything turning to senseless garbles. And then the fingers were gone and the spirit was easing his hand away from their cocks. He felt the slick head of the spirit’s dick as it was lead down, dragging over his sack then back over his perineum before pressing against his entrance. It pressed forward and Noctis moaned, suddenly acutely aware of just what he’d asked for. He cracked his eyes open, saw the spirit’s brow creased in concentration and sweat slipping down his face and once again something whispered that he was safe here. 

He closed his eyes again and breathed out. 

The spirit’s cock pushed against his hole, persistent but also slow as it worked Noctis open. He sank in a little, dragged out, repeated the motion to enter him a little further, and pulled out again; slow, so very slow and careful. Noctis could feel everything, every throb in time to the spirit’s breathing, the twitches when his breath hitched. It was what he wanted but not enough, not nearly enough. He shifted, brought his legs up and around the spirit and lifted his hips searchingly. 

“Please.” He begged shamelessly. 

The spirit let out a sound, deep and almost like a sob, and snapped his hips forward. Noctis screamed at the sky, nails digging into the spirit’s shoulder, as he was stretched open wide around the spirit’s cock. It burned, pain and pressure mingling with sharp, aching need, and he had a thought that maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was being spread wide, split open with each deep rock into his body, felt his muscles straining to accommodate, flexing and clinging as they tried to fit the spirit’s girth inside of hm. 

The carefulness was, it seemed forgotten, because the spirit didn’t waste any time in starting to thrust into him. He gripped his hips tight, loomed over him, and fucked him hard. Noctis screamed again, shouted himself hoarse as the spirit pounded into him and it was just. So. Much. Thick, hot, filling him so deep, changing something inside of him. Every push deep and draw out seemed to take something from him, from the very core of himself, whisk it away bit by bit, and replace it with that molten magic that sang in his blood and crackled over his skin like lightening. 

A shift and he was being moved, bent practically in half with his legs draped over the spirit’s shoulders, hands tight at his hips, dragging him back into every hard thrust, and he was choking on the feeling. All he could do was mewl and sob and press his heels into the spirit’s back, He clenched around the spirit’s cock, tried to rock with him but, really, there was nothing to do but hold on and be...be taken. Fucked hard and deep, with no choice but to take it. 

He wanted to take it, wanted this spirit to use him up and then fill him again, more, to mark him deep inside, to take from him and-

He came without realizing he was on the edge when a hand closed around his cock. He shook and twisted up, would have folded in on himself if he could, as the most intense orgasm of his life crashed into him. His cock jerked and spurted hot and thick over his stomach and he convulsed all over, all around the spirit; it moaned through gritted teeth above him then started pistoning into him in a fast, sloppy rhythm. The spirit was saying something, Noct could see it’s lips moving, but all he could hear was the thundering of his own heart and the rush of his blood in his ears. The world dimmed and lost color, spun madly. 

The last thing he was fully aware of was the spirit’s cock swelling, stiffening, and then pouring it’s release into his twitching body. 


	2. Memories Trapped in Time

Noctis woke up somewhere that was not the motel room he’d been holed up in since landing in Altissia. In fact he wasn’t even on a bed but, rather, tucked into a futon. The room around him was otherwise bare, no furniture, nothing on the beige walls, no windows. There were sliding doors, wooden framed and thin enough that light from outside was brightening up the otherwise dull room. He pushed himself up, confused.

Or rather started to push himself up only to groan softly as his vision swam and his head started to pound. It felt like it had been shoved full of rocks, too heavy to even keep up right. He swayed, head lolling, and groaned again. Something slid off of his forehead and plopped into his lap with a wet squish. He cracked open eyes he didn’t remember shutting to stare down at the damp, folded over cloth that must have been placed on him by…by who?

He closed his eyes again, trying to remember what had happened. How had he gotten here? Where was here? He’d been visiting the local spirits, starting with a few scattered about the city proper then traveling out to one he’d been told about on one of the smaller islands still considered part of the capitol, but set apart from the action and chaos.  It was supposed to be old and old shrines often meant spirits with a lot of power and influence.

He remembered the snow and the hike, the bitter coldness seeping into his feet in spite of his boots, the sweat beading on his brow and then turning frigid on his skin. He remembered a not inconsiderable amount of regret as he’d walked and walked and the sky turned darker and darker over head. Finally finding the shrine, the worn gate with it’s peeling paint, passing under it and-

The singing.

The demon.

The kiss and a whole lot kisses after that. Breathy moans, sharp teeth, sharper claws raking over his skin, a warm weight settling on top of him, between his legs, and then-

Noctis huffed out a breath and put a hand over his eyes, face burning at the snatches of memory. It was fuzzy but he was pretty sure he’d just...let a spirit fuck him. He’d just lost his virginity to a spirit that had, he was pretty sure, wanted to eat him! And maybe had? Sort of? Eaten him?

There had been a lightheaded, near drunken feeling that got more pronounced with each languid press of lips and rock of the spirit’s hips. A sensation like he was losing something, was having it drawn right out of him bit by bit, and that the crackling electricity of his magic, always a comforting ‘weight’ at the core of his being, was shrinking.

His eyes snapped open and, heart in his throat, he looked inwards. Magic had been his companion since he was a child, a raw living thing that made its home inside of him, stretched out to fill all of him, cradled him and soothed him when no one else could or would. Even before he’d known how to channel it with words and symbols and rituals it had been there, with him, part of him, and it had always been just his. It had grown as he grew, sparked and spat when he was angry and became a calm, low thrum of static when he was content.

He’d never been without it and was, in fact, fairly certain if it was ever snuffed out he would die along with it. And yet he reached for it frantically even though he was very much still alive and nearly cried when he felt it. Smaller, tired, a bit diminished but there. Recovering rapidly, with food and sleep he (they) would be back to top to form in no time at all.

He tossed the blanket back, intending to get away but another wave of dizziness and a sharp stabbing pain right at the base of his skull had different ideas. The world wavered and spun, his stomach churned unhappily, and a dull ache settled in his hips and radiated up his spine; he ground his teeth together, trying to banish the pain and weakness. He pushed himself up, forced his leaden legs (and, hey, where were his pants?!) to work and fold under him and

The world went dark.

When he blinked back to awareness it was with hands on him, smoothing back his hair. The hand retreated and something clinked together quietly. He blinked open bleary eyes to watch the profile of a person, a man with sandy brown hair falling over his face. His eyes swept up, took in the twitching red triangle shaped ears then down to where rust colored tails were curled and arranged around bent legs.

The spirit from the night before. Noctis tried to lift a hand, to open his mouth, but he was just too tired to do anything but stare. The man turned back to him, a cloth in hand then jerked back in surprise. His eyes were different, no longer poison green fire, but one a calmer green and the other stone gray with a milky film over it.

“Oh! You’re awake. Again.” The man leaned closer, frowning slightly. “I hope you weren’t planning to try to get up. You have a fever and I…may have taken more than my fair share of energy from you last night”

Noctis swallowed, trying to work moisture into his sandpaper dry mouth and throat. The man leaned out of sight then, when he came back, helped ease Noctis up. Pillows were shoved under him, propping him up, and a cup was pressed to his lips. He took a sip of something lukewarm that smelled grossly medicinal and gagged. He turned his head but the cup was pressed to his lips again, insistent.

“Drink it, foolish witch child.” The man scolded. “I won’t have you dying or getting more sick while I’m taking care of you.”

Noctis made himself sip the whatever it was. He found, much to his slight irritation, that he actually felt better almost immediately when it settled in his stomach and worse it tasted amazing, a burst of salty savory flavor, with only the barest hint of the bitter herbs he knew had to be in there, that coated his tongue and warmed his throat. A cup of water was offered next and he even managed to hold the stoneware cup on his own.

“Why are you…what…you were going to *eat* me.” Noctis croaked. “My magic, you…what did you do?”

The man blinked at him, expression impassive, then looked down at his ink black claws. One of his tails flicked in irritation “I didn’t do anything to your magic. You shoved it into my mouth like some sort of idiot. If I were a younger, less controlled, creature I might have tried to suck you dry just to see if I could, and you acted like you wanted nothing more than to help me do it. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”

Noctis opened his mouth then shut it, not sure how to handle being scolded, and taken care of, by someone who had wanted to **EAT** him. The water was taken away and replaced with another cup of steaming broth, this one a little darker than the first. There were sprigs of herbs floating in it and when Noctis inhaled it’s savory, fresh scent warmth spread through his body and his headache receded further. The first sip burst over his tongue, stronger than the first cup and without the hint of gross after taste. He drank it down greedily, audience forgotten, and may have moaned once or twice.

“Here, let me. There’s more.” More came in the form of an old cast iron teapot, hefted up and tipped to pour more broth into his cup. Noctis closed his hands around it, letting the heat seep into his fingertips.

“Why are you doing this?”

The spirit sighed, ears twitching in irritation. “Why did you feed me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

That earned him a hard look. “You didn’t mean to? So you often kiss non-humans who use magic to bewitch and ensnare you, just for the sake of doing so?”

Noctis shrugged. “I just…I felt like I had to. You looked so…” Beautiful. Awful. Hurt. Hungry. Withered. “I had to. I didn’t know it was going to…feed you, or anything.”

The spirits brows furrowed. “I would suggest in the future you put more thought into the impulses you give into, lest you open yourself up to something less considerate.”

“…you were going to eat me.”

The spirit flashed sharp teeth and, for a heartbeat, his eyes glowed with fire. And then it subsided, leaving him smiling slightly and amused. “But I didn’t. Someone else would have, or worse, tried to enslave you. You are…there’s a lot of magic in you. Enough to sustain something like me for a very long time if I took from you carefully.”

He stood up, smoothing down his yukata with one hand and scooping up the teapot with the other. “You’re a tempting meal for a starving spirit living off what little energy is left in a place like this, to say nothing of the scavengers,”

Noctis gripped his cup tighter, a strange heaviness settling in his stomach. “Were you? Starving?”

The spirit blinked at him once, twice, then turned away to head towards the door. “Finish that and sleep so you can recover quickly. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

—-

“How often do you need to feed?” Noctis asked the next time they spoke.

The spirit pushed a bowl of soup, thicker and darker than the broth and full of vegetables (Noctis’ stomach rumbled in hunger; he had never felt so betrayed in all his life.) into his hands and left without a word. Noctis dipped a slice of warm, crusty bread into his soup and sighed.

That had gone well. Very smooth. 

—-

“Do you have to feed off humans?” Noctis tried later, over another bowl of soup and more bread. “They can’t come out here often; it’s pretty far out of the way. So can you, you know, eat normal food? Or maybe animals? Or-”

“I sometimes eat my own. Other spirits and monsters.” The spirit said, baring his teeth in a sharp, ugly smile. “The scavengers who think I must have finally become too weak to fight back and try to suck the magic from my flesh and gorge themselves on my bones. It was…I lost my eye, to them, recently.”  

He placed a small bowl of rice and chopsticks on the tray next to the soup then straightened up. “It will be years before they try again, thanks to you. Perhaps I will hunt them instead, to see if it suits me as well as it did them.”  

Noctis pulled the blankets closer around himself, chilled, and said no more.

—-

“Why don’t you leave?” Noctis asked as he stirred berries and brown sugar into his oatmeal. He felt better, probably well enough to leave, even though it had only been two days. The spirit had remarked on how fast his magic was recovering; the open hunger on his face had made Noctis seriously consider running away right then and there.

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Nothing else to do.”

The spirits stare was unnerving most of the time, his sightless eye never quite focusing or reflecting the emotion in the other, and even more so now. He stared at Noctis like he was trying to see through him, trying to read every thought in his head or, perhaps, wanted to tear them right from him so he could paw through them at his leisure, slicing them apart with the tip of his wicked claws before devouring them. Or maybe Noctis was starting to go a little stir crazy.

“This is where my last master bound me, as punishment, before he wandered off and died. I can’t leave unless a new master releases me.”

Noctis tilted his head to the side, spoon frozen inches from his mouth. “Master?”

“The witch I was contracted to, as a familiar.” The spirit explain then, taking in Noctis confused expression, made a noise of disgust. “You don’t know about familiars? Your magical education is lacking.”

“Well,” Noctis said with more bitterness than he meant to allow to seep out. “I was raised by a coven-slash-cult that intended to sacrifice me to a death goddess when I turned twenty so no one was all that concerned with making sure I knew stuff. No one teaches the cow they’re raising to slaughter how to fight back if they're smart.”

And the Caelum cult was very smart. Noctis did fine with magic mostly through sheer willpower and the strength of his power, not because he had any manner of formal education. 

The spirit went still, a slight widening of his good eye the only sign he’d heard. Noctis squirmed then looked away, poking at his food. “Sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“I am hardly in a position to judge, eating other spirits as I do.” The spirit said softly. “But that is horrible.”

Noctis closed his eyes and thought about his father, tired and sad but determined as he stood aside to let Noctis escape the citadel. He thought about the death announcement in the paper days later and once again anger and sorrow warred inside of him. His father was...he didn't know what to think of him now, knowing the man had raised him like a pig to be slaughtered but, all the same, he hadn't wanted him to die. Certainly not on his behalf. 

But it was done and all he could do was keep walking forward. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Your master leaving you here to starve sounds pretty awful too.”

The spirit hummed in agreement. “He took what wasn’t freely given then saw fit to leave me to slowly die for trying to hold my power back from him. I’ve been here for…over two hundred years, I believe. Alone. Starving, kept alive by eating the occasional foolish scavenger and wandering human, but I wonder if all I’ve done is prolong his punishment he laid upon me.

“I think he would be delighted to know I’m still here, suffering.” 

The spirit left after that. Noctis set his bowl aside, appetite long gone. 

—

“You could come with me.” Noctis offered as the morning on the third day dawned. He going to leave today, they’d decided the night before, and now nothing was left but to get dressed and actually do it. “Or. I don’t know. We could contract so you can leave here and then break it? Is that a thing?”

“It can be.” The spirit said slowly, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Most contracts are temporary. It depends on how it’s formed.”

Noctis nodded his understanding. “Okay?”

“The more done, and the more magic transferred, the more binding the contract. On occasion they can even go past a mere contract and become a soul bond.” The spirit paused, tongue sweeping out over his bottom lip. “When you kissed me, it made a contract of sorts. You gave me magic willingly and that put me in your debt, which I paid by tending to you until you’d recovered. That fulfilled the contract for now, but we would need more than that for you to unbind me. Giving you my name and you giving me your blood would, normally, be enough of a contract for you to unbind me from this place.”

He paused again, fingers curling and uncurling on his lap. “Sex is another method, and may form a more lasting contract if done in conjunction with me giving you my name. My last master used all three to bind me and it would take all three to overwrite that.”

"Well. We already-" 

"Not like that, I'm afraid." The spirit chuckled. "It would require me to accept your...essence, internally."

"O-oh." Well. That was unexpected, by maybe made a kind of sense when he really thought about and...it wasn't like he'd mind doing it...that way. “I could do that? Not…not that I want to, you know. The sex thing. But if it will get you out of here I could do that. For you.” Mostly for him.

Maybe a little bit for himself. But just a little. Noctis had realized young he had a power kink of sorts, the more power someone had the more attracted he was, and the show of power this being had made that first night had been…amazing. He’d never seen anything like it and a shameful part of himself wanted to touch it, hold it, be trapped in it again.  And if that had been after however long alone, starving, then who knew what he could do when properly powered up.

The thought made heat pool in Noctis’ stomach.

The spirit smiled fleetingly. “It would be a lasting contract. I would be your servant until the day you died which could be a very long time for someone of your power.”

Noctis deflated. He didn’t want to trap him again, he wanted to release him. To keep him from being eaten by scavenger spirits, and from luring more humans into this place and eating them, not tether him to something else.

“I’ll have you know I’m a very powerful familiar, when in top form. Highly trained and sought after, I’ve had masters killed in pursuit of me. I’m a *god*.” The spirit grumbled, looking offended. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

“No! I mean…of course you are. I can tell.” Noctis hurried to explain. “It’s just…I want to set you free, not make you stay with me. I…you should have a choice, in what you do.”

Everyone should have a choice and a chance to live, shouldn’t they? Isn’t that why he’d run away, for a chance?

The spirit squinted at him thoughtfully. “You’re a strange witch. I’ve just told you I’m a god and how to bind me but you don’t want that power?”

“I’ve got power? Tons of it. It hasn’t done me a whole lot of good.” So far all it had done was make the people he’d thought were his friends and family want to kill him, and gotten his father killed in his place. As much as magic was part of him he wasn’t terribly impressed with it or the things people did to attain and keep it. “I don’t need any more.”

The spirit smiled again, softer this time, and fire sparked in his eyes. “And what if I wanted to give it to you? What would you do with it?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“You know, I think I believe that you mean that.”  

“Um?” The spirit moved with unnatural speed, going from kneeling at his side to crawling onto the futon and pushing Noctis back to lay flat before straddling him. “Um!”

“Shh.” A clawed fingertip pressed against his lips, silencing him. “I am Ignis Scientia, fire god of this land. I’ve decided to keep you.”

Anything Noctis might have said was lost in a kiss, heated and fierce. Teeth sank into his bottom lip and he tasted blood in his mouth, felt it on the spirit’s tongue when he licked into his mouth, saw it on his lips when he broke the kiss to let Noctis’ breath. His tongue darted out to sweep over Noctis’ lips again, lapped at where it was stinging.

Name.

Blood.

“Have you had sex before last night?” Ignis asked against his mouth. “I’m not very good at guessing human ages, but I assume you’re fully matured.”

“I…no. I mean, yes, fully-fully, oh! Your hand-”

“That is my hand, yes.” Ignis agreed. “And that is your prick, unless human anatomy had changed drastically over the last two hundred years. I am going to riding it in a moment here.”

“…oh.” Noctis gasped out, hips pressing up into the spirit’s grasp. “Uh. Okay. That. That seems fine. I’m okay with that.”

Ignis smirked, eyes blazing, then leaned in to bring their lips together. This kiss was just as good as the ones from the night before, warm and wet and deep, Ignis' tongue lying claim to his mouth and probing deep. Noctis melted into him eagerly. He helped the spirit push aside the folds of his clothing, and bunch up the blanket down around his knees so it was out of the way, and then-

"Fuck!" Noctis yelped when, in one shockingly fast motion, Ignis lifted up above his cock and then sank down on it. He was swallowed up by blistering, slick heat, tight and flexing velvet soft around him. The spirit moaned, lashes fluttering and eyes closing as his clawed hands found Noctis' shoulders and held tight, and then rose up over him. Noctis gasped wordlessly, the flash of concern he'd had because was it okay to just? Go at it like that? fading away into nothingness, chased away by heat and friction when Ignis began to twist and bounce in his lap. 

"I accept you as my master." Was murmured in his ear, low and raspy and achingly sweet and his magic surged up, slipped free in thin tendrils of light and wound themselves around Ignis. 

The world exploded into white light and something struck Noctis in the chest hard, pulled back his skin and cracked open his ribs to get at his heart and take hold. 

Ignis groaned and convulsed around him. "Oh! That- you are...What are you-oh." He sounded confused, shakey, awed all at once. Noctis  lifted his head searchingly and found Ignis's chin, cheek, lips, to pepper with kisses, and tasted salt on the tip of his tongue. 

Warmth flowed over him. 

It felt good. 


	3. So imperfectly what you should be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto is very used to bad days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Broken pieces, break into me  
>  So imperfectly what you should be  
> I don't want you to go  
> Don't wanna see you back out in the cold  
> Air you're breathing out fades you to grey  
> Don't run away, find me  
> I know the battles of chasing the shadows of who you wanna be  
> It doesn't matter, go on and shatter  
> I'm all you need  
> Broken pieces, break into me  
> So imperfectly what you should be  
> Lay here, it's safe here, I'll let you be broken open  
> Hide here, confide here so we can be broken open  
> Let's enlighten the night  
> We can fall away, slip out of sight  
> When you drop your guard  
> Melt into time, so intertwined, quiet  
> I know the battles of chasing the shadows of who you wanna be  
> It doesn't matter, go on and shatter  
> I'm all you need  
> Broken pieces, break into me  
> So imperfectly what you should be  
> Lay here, it's safe here, I'll let you be broken open  
> Hide here, confide here so we can be broken open  
> Broken pieces, break into me  
> So imperfectly what you should be  
> Lay here, it's safe here, I'll let you be broken open  
> Hide here, confide here so we can be broken open  
> Lay here, it's safe here, I'll let you be broken open  
> Hide here, confide here so we can be broken open_  
> ~Broken Open, Adam Lambert.   
> Prompto's Theme

Prompto was sure that everyone had good and bad days. That was just how life worked, wasn’t it? Highs and lows, ups and downs, victories and defeats and all of that. And sometimes bad days happened back to back but eventually there was supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel, or so movies had him believing. 

Prompto hadn’t reached the end of his bad day tunnel yet which was why when he woke up on what would turn out to be the worst day of his life thus far with a splitting headache and spots on his vision he forced himself to just...get up, and go anyway. It was going to be a bad day, he could tell by the way his head was pounding, by how fuzzy and disconnected he felt from his body, by how hard it was to get food down his throat, and by how his body ached, especially around and between his shoulder blades, as he slogged through a shower and dressing himself. Every breath he took as he helped to clean the mission kitchen reminded him that it was going to be a bad day and he was going to have to deal with it. 

Prompto was no stranger to bad days. In fact one could say his entire life had been a series of really intense bad days with very rare and precious good days peppered in for just enough flavor to keep him going. Of course his entire life, as far as he knew it, was exactly 80 days long and had started when he’d woken up in Our Lady of Shiva hospital, memoryless, nameless, and directionless. All anyone knew was that he’d been beaten about 95% of the way to death a year ago, left to bleed out, naked, in the dead of winter, only to somehow manage to hold on in spite of a massive brain bleed and internal injuries that should have pushed him that 5% into death long before anyone found him on that snowy, frigid street. And then, as the icing on the cake, he’d fallen into a coma for months. He hadn’t had any form of ID, no one matching his description had been reported missing in all the time he’d been comatose, and his fingerprints weren’t in any of the available databases.

He was a literal nobody, wanted or missed by no one except, perhaps, to finish the job someone had started. But, likely, he wasn’t even worth enough to kill properly. 

The priestesses at the hospital had taken to calling him Prompto Argentum, after the streets he’d been found at the corner of, Prompto Street and Argentum Way, down in the meatpacking district, laid out on the docks in a pile of bloody snow, mere feet from the iced over water. Whoever had done it too him hadn’t even been willing to take the time to actually push him into Oracle Bay and, in a weird sort of way, that fucking stung more than anything else. 

The nurses had taken good care of him while he was in his coma, and on the country’s dime, but when he’d woken up and proved to be perfectly healthy (too healthy, too well healed according to some whispers he’d heard and judging by the fearful looks some of the medical staff had worn while tending to him) aside from the amnesia they’d been forced to cut him loose to fend for himself. That was just the way things were in a place like this, where public funds were stretched frighteningly thin and there were way too many people who needed help. An able bodied guy in his, probably, early twenties, couldn’t be permitted to take up a free bed, even at a Temple hospital, when others more in need could make use of it. 

He understood it.  

The Shiva Priestesses had helped as much as they could when they’d finally had to turn him out into the world. They’d gotten him in touch with a social worker, promised to keep looking for any information on who he really was, and attempted to get him into a halfway house or some sort of job program until he could get on his feet, but again he was able bodied and of mostly sound mind so there was really nothing to be done for him in that respect. In the end all they could really do was direct him to a few different places to look for work, gotten him started off with money they’d raised on his behalf, given him the names of some places he might be able to stay, and the rest was what it was.

Normal work was hard to find, being that he had no paperwork (his social worker was on it, but was also overworked, stretched illegally thin, and chronically on the verge of a breakdown, plus Prompto was low priority compared to the rest of her caseload) and no idea what he might be good at it. The glaring lack of experience in anything didn’t help either and explaining the situation didn’t get him nearly as far as he’d hoped, especially when he disclosed his lingering issues. Finding a decent place to live had proved impossible without an identity and a job as well. A few landlords had even laughed in his face before turning him back into the street. And he wasn’t talking the guys who ran nicer places, he was talking near slumlords who rented out rooms in places that looked one stiff breeze from falling over, were rejecting him.

It was hell on a guy’s self esteem. Or would have been if he had any, which he didn’t.   

In the end he’d gotten lucky with Father Sazh and Our Lady of Brynhildr Mission. Until then he had spent a lot of nights sleeping outside and a lot of days hungry, and had been seriously considering doing certain...things, that he knew other people stuck sleeping and living rough did, just to make a little cash. 

But Father Sazh had let him in one night after finding him in a park, even though he was out of beds and had gone through the food quota for the night, allowing him to sleep on the couch in his apartment next to the mission where he and his son lived and giving him food from his own kitchen. Just like that, with no idea of who Prompto was aside from a grungy homeless guy huddled up in the shadow of the park bathrooms with only the clothes on his back to his name. He could have been a thief or dangerous, could have attacked Sazh or his son during the night and made off with whatever he could find. 

He wasn’t that sort of person but he didn’t know if he’d ever understand what Father Sazh had been to make him take that risk. 

Prompto had never really left the mission after that. He helped out in the kitchen and at meal times, cleaned up, helped with other odds and ends, and that got him some money, a steady bed, and a plate set aside at meals where those things were usually first come, first serve. Sazh had put out some feelers as far as work went, helped him get some things together for applications and interviews. Things were getting better, easier...hopeful, maybe. Wearing a smile and laughing was slowly becoming less forced and more genuine. 

Prompto was occasionally hopeful things would eventually work out for him, that he could somehow conquer whatever had happened to him and make a decent life happen, on the good days.

On the bad days, when his head hurt so badly he couldn’t see straight and he heard things, saw terrible things, would get headaches so bad he whited out only to wake up hours, and one time days, later with no idea where he was or how he got there…on those days it was just enough to get through to a less bad day.

So no, he wasn’t a stranger to bad days. 

And yet today, after having his case worker confirm there was still nothing on who he might really be and that the wheels of bureaucracy were turning slowly to getting him a new identity, getting another ‘we’re sorry but we’ve decided you aren’t quite right for us’ email, getting caught in a sudden downpour, and having one of those headaches forming at the base of his skull, was the worst yet. He’d been trudging back to the mission, sodden shoes and socks chafing his skin with each step, chilled through, and fighting to just keep walking straight as his vision swam and the White started creeping in on the edges when the woman had come lurching from between two buildings to attack him.

He couldn’t describe her as anything other than wrong. She’d been too thin, hunched, all hard angles and jutting bones, head not quite on her body right, eyes huge and glittering strangely, looking almost segmented in the moonlight. Her hair was devoid of color, greasy and lank as it hung over her face, her skin hung on her frame oddly, like it wasn’t meant for her body, and her teeth were too big, too sharp, didn’t fit in her drooling mouth. The nails she’d slashed at him with had gone straight through his ratty, patched denim jacket and sweatshirt to tear jagged lines in his skin.

“Pretty bird.” She’d ground out with a voice like someone gargling gravel. “Pretty wings. Come to my web.”

Drugs, probably. A lot of people in this part of Altissia were on drugs, the most popular being Scourge and Ifrit. The latter was named for the fire god of the Lucians because it burned like fire through the veins when it was injected and Prompto had no idea why he knew that but it worried him that the knowledge popped up in his head like it did. He also know both drugs changed people, warped their bodies and brains and made them something like monsters. 

It was best to just avoid people like that.

In hindsight stumbling down the narrow alley she’d come from had been stupid but the headache had gone from barely tolerable to ‘my head is going to explode’ and blood was trickling from his nose. The White was covering everything and that meant he needed to be off the street, tucked away, before he passed out again. It was an inevitable thing, losing consciousness when the White took over, and he’d learned the hard way that the safest thing was to be somewhere indoors and warm for when he came back to himself. She’d followed, jumping at him, pushing and shoving, slashing and biting, cooing about what a pretty bird he was.

He remembered falling into an icy, sludge colored puddle that smelled like trash, his sight narrowed down to a hazy pinprick full of the women’s drool covered teeth. His back hurt, throbbed, stretched and he was tearing apart, being shredded from the inside, muscles on fire and howling in pain as his body convulsed and warped. 

Everything was White. .

And then footsteps, shouting, something wet spraying his face. Screaming. The White drew back like the tide and for the first time in his memory his headache just…went away. It was there and then it was gone, blinking out like a switch had been flipped inside of his mind to the off position. The pain went away and the world came back, bright and clear and in perfect focus. 

Just in time for him to watch the woman burn alive, screeching and howling as green flames consumed her. There was a sword jammed through her chest, pinning her to a wall, the hilt held by a dark haired man dressed in all black, blue eyes cold as ice. The flames danced, grew, licked at the man as they ate the woman but he showed no signs of pain nor did he burn. The woman thrashed, reaching for the dark haired man and screaming as the poison green flames blackened her skin and turned her hair to ash, but all of the blows from her long limbs and hooked fingers missed the man. Or rather seemed to be deflected by some force, skittering against an invisible barrier uselessly. 

There was a man in a dark yukata, also bathed in fire but it didn’t seem to hurt him any more than it did the dark haired man, chanting and making complex symbols with his fingers. He had long dark blond hair, flowing free and whipping around by a wind that  pointed furry ears and a fluffy tail. Tails. Many tails, the color of dried blood and tipped with white fire. 

There was a collar around his neck, a thick band of light that fit perfectly to him, twinkled and glowed like nothing Prompto had ever seen before. What looked like a chain made of the same light tumbled from the front of the collar, stretched across the ground, casting it’s light all over, to where the other end was looped around the dark haired man’s wrist. The chain was...pulsing, the light dimming then brightening and Prompto thought he maybe heard a soft thump-thump, like a heartbeat, keeping time with the flickering of the light. 

Prompto decided he had to be losing his shit. The bad days had finally become too much for him to deal with and he’d actually completely lost it. 

Also he was covered in blood. Maybe. It was thick and black, like tar, and smelled like burnt hair or maybe that was actual burning hair but it was oozing out of the cuts he’d received from that woman, staining his clothes and and and oh god what the fuck what the fuck what-

The screaming stopped. The chanting stopped. The man with the sword pulled it from the charred body with a wet sucking sound, allowing the corpse to slump to the ground where it began to fall apart, ashy skin flaking away as the form crumbled to reveal flesh that was both charred and wet. With a flick of his wrist the weapon was gone with a crackle of blue lights; the dark haired man raked a hand through his hair and sighed. 

The man with the tails smoothed down his clothing, flicking bits of black char that had floated his way from the dark fabric, then turned to face Prompto with blazing green eyes. The man tilted his head to the side, eyes sweeping over him with a single minded intensity Prompto could feel like blistering heat against his skin.

He blinked. The man blinked back.

“What are you?” The darker haired man asked. He was in front of Prompto somehow, had moved without Prompto seeing it happening, and was offering him a hand. “I’ve never seen a spirit like you before.”

“…what?” Prompto asked blankly. “Me? What are…you killed that woman!?” His voice rose to a pitchy shriek and his stomach lurched. He tasted pile on the back of his tongue “How? Don’t touch me!”

He smacked the man’s hand away and tried to scramble back, to stand and get away but his body was strange, unbalanced, heavy in the wrong places. Something was weighing him down from behind. He turned his head, confused and found-

Wings.

Both large than he was, long enough that the ends brushed the ground and the graceful rounded aches at the top were above his head. One of the wings was made of sleek glossy black feathers that were shot through with glittering silver threads and the other wing a skeletal black frame with skin(? Was that skin or leather or-) so pale it was near translucent and showed a spiderweb of blood vessels just beneath the surface stretched between the joints. Both were dripping blood so red it was nearly black and now that he was aware of it he could feel his back was wet and sticky, shirt and jacket clinging to his skin.

Prompto screamed.

“…so he probably isn’t going to want coffee, right?”

“Honestly, Noct.” The fox eared man muttered, pushing the other man out of the way so he could kneel in front of Prompto. Who was still screaming, eyes wide and burning, blurring, hands clenched into fists at his side, heart beating so fast it was going to burst from his chest and, oh, maybe that would be an improvement over

Hands held his face, rough palms pressing against his cheeks; his throat tightened and his voice failed him, leaving him open mouthed and gasping as green eyes met his own. Fire, leaf green, surged to life around the man’s hands and it was...cool. Prompto felt it, caressing his skin with feather light brushes as it leapt from the man’s hands to rush over his face, down his body, to wrap him up in it’s cool embrace. It was...soothing and slowly, slowly, the pain he felt in his back went away as did the panic building in his chest. 

“What’re you doing?” The dark haired man asked, voice hushed and curious. 

“Healing him of his wounds and shock.” The blond said, lips quirking up to show a hint of wickedly sharp teeth. 

“With fire.” 

“Yes Noctis. Fire has a great many uses.” The man’s thumbs swept over his cheekbones, wiping away tears Prompto hadn’t fully realized he shed. “You’d know that if you listened during any of my lessons.” 

The man huffed. “You’ve never healed me like that. You just feed me gross potions then make me suck your dick.” 

Prompto’s eyes jumped up to the man’s pouting face in shock; the man smiled slightly and winked. Prompto looked back down, face warming under the other man’s cool hands. The fox eared man sighed loudly. “Make you, do I? Rest assured that next time I’ll use this method and then send you straight to bed to recover the long way.”

“Specs-”

“Master.” There was a decidedly mocking edge to the word. 

The dark haired man rolled his eyes. “Whatever. ...so. Can I do that?”

“Doubtful. Water is the only true healing element, and I’m strong enough to make fire work for me, but I’ve never known anyone to work shadow to do so.” The man’s hands dropped away. “How do you feel now?” 

It took Prompto a moment to realize the words were directed at him. He swallowed, the urge to scream or vomit (both, maybe) was still there but it was hazy, wrapped in cotton balls and placed to the side to be dealt with later. In its place was a fuzzy warmth that buzzed a song he could almost, but not quite hear, under his skin and in his head. It was strange but familiar, maybe, and in spite of himself he found himself relaxing a little more. 

“F-fine?” 

“Good.” The man straightened up from and stepped aside, letting the dark haired man take his spot and once again hold out a hand to Prompto. “It isn’t true healing, you understand, so in a moment you’ll feel rather weak and groggy. Noctis will be able to help with that a little, if you’ll allow it.” 

Prompto looked at the hand in front of his face then back up at the dark haired man, Noctis. Warm blue eyes stared back, clear and bright and yet...something was lurking in the depths of them, something dark and big and it should have been scary, terrifying, after what he’d just seen. 

But the buzz under his skin sang louder 

He took his hand and it was electric, prickling energy jumping through his fingers and palm to zip up his arm, leaving painful pins and needles in its wake. He inhaled sharply and felt the needles fill his mouth, lungs, chest and belly, every single bit of him was suddenly full to bursting, overflowing, numb but drowning in sensation. It was

Amazing. 

And over as quickly as it started, Noctis’ hand slipping away from his once he’d been hauled to his feet. Noctis shook his head and blinked blown wide eyes, a flush high on his cheeks. Prompto missed the rush as soon as it was gone and had to restrain himself from reaching out to take his hand again. That would have been rude, right?

Even if he now felt so good. Awake, aware, strong, sharp and...just...he didn’t know how to describe it. Amazing. 

“Ohhhh. That was. Different.” Noctis said, laughing as he shook his head again. 

“Other spirits will be. We all have our own unique...flavor.” The fox eared man explained. His tone was the same but his eyes had narrowed and there was an annoyed tilt to his mouth; Prompto could read it easily because he’d seen so much of it in the past 80 days. “Let’s go Noctis. We must report that body to Luna-”

“Go? What about him?” 

The fox eared man glanced back. “He’s been saved, healed, and you’ve given him some of your energy. That is more than enough.” Noctis was silent, turned away from Prompto to look at the other, but there must have been something on his face because the blond scowled. “He is an unknown spirit, not a puppy to take home and clean up.” 

Another beat of silence. The blond’s ears flattened against his skull. “Absolutely not. Spirits don’t share space well period, but certainly not a small motel room.” 

“Just to let him get cleaned up. He’s covered in blood and, uh. Wings.” 

Green eyes flicked back to Prompto and full lips pulled down at the corners. “The humans likely won’t notice.” 

“Iggy-” 

The man’s eyes flickered, green fire to something more normal, one a muted green and the other a milky stone gray. His clothing changed, with no fanfare or visible queues; one moment he was in a yukata and the next he was in dark jeans and a fitted, animal print shirt in a soft purple. A pair of glasses sat on his nose; he peered over the rims at them. “Do what you wish Noctis. I’ll report this to the coven and meet you at home.” 

And then he was gone, walking out of the alley and turning a corner out of sight in the time it took Prompto to blink. Noctis hummed then shrugged, muttering a quiet “That was weird.” under his breath before gesturing at Prompto. 

“I’m saying close by. You can use the shower and, hmm, I think we’re about the same size? So you can wear something of mine.” He made a motion like he was going to reach for Prompto, touch his arm or maybe take his hand, but stopped short, lashes fluttering and eyes widening. "Um." 

Prompto shifted, swayed forward without meaning to but didn’t try to move back once it was done. His face was hot and his voice breathy when he spoke. “Okay. Let’s...do that. And maybe you can explain all of...this.”

Blue eyes jumped up to focus on Prompto's wings. "...probably not. I've never seen anything like you before." 

He sounded...awed, and excited, and his lips pulled up into another, wider, smile. Fingertips brushed the back of Prompto’s hand. 

A shiver ran up Prompto's spine. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a month or so after the last chapter. We'll go back and fill in what's missing but. Non-linear narrative in non-linear. Next chapter is either Noct and Prompto and wing grooming, or Noctis and his more or less loyal familiars get called in by their cities coven head and sent on a job. 
> 
> I haven't decided yet.


End file.
